Reading Lessons
by Mowee
Summary: Cosette, Eponine, and Azelma play. (Grazie to ElenLaurelin for the title.)


Cosette hummed softly to herself, watching the water bubble up between her fingers as she scrubbed the floor. Her voice was rough, skipping up and down, never quite matching the tune she was trying to imitate.   
  
"Shut up, Lark," Éponine snapped as she flounced into the room; Cosette fell silent. "I want us to play a game."   
  
Folding the cloth, the wretched little girl rose slowly. "What--"   
  
"Shut up. I'm telling you." With a deliberate motion, the Thénardier daughter moved her hands from behind her back to reveal a book. It was old, stained and worn over the years. Watching Cosette out of the corner of her eye, Éponine flipped randomly through its pages. "Here," she said suddenly, stopping. "Can you read this part? Of course not. But I can." She squinted at the page, making her lie seem genuine, and moved closer to Cosette. "It's about 'love'. Mama told me. Let's play out this part, Lark."   
  
Cosette peered at the book, then at Éponine, and back. Voice quavering, she inquired, "But how?"   
  
"I'm _telling_ you. I'll sit on this chair, here, and then you come--"   
  
At this moment the front door opened and closed loudly, and Azelma marched into the room, her boots trailing mud from outside. "What are you doing? Can I play too?"   
  
Éponine brightened. "Good, you're back! Cosette, go back to work."   
  
Cosette, who had been timidly enthralled at the idea of a game, looked crestfallen. "But 'Ponine--"   
  
"Oh, _all right_, I've thought of something else for you." She seated herself at one of the tables and, clearing her throat importantly, proceeded to dictate the two girls. "'Zelma, you bring me flowers, and I'll sit here. You'll be the boy, and we can talk a little. Lover's talk, you know. Lark, you sit over there and cry. --You love me too, see? But I only love 'Zelma, and so you're crying. Then 'Zelma, you and Cosette fight, because you don't want her loving me. All right? That's how they do it in Mama's books," she concluded proudly.   
  
Azelma nodded, pretty dark locks bobbing, and grinned eagerly.   
  
Cosette looked less enthusiastic.   
  
The older Mlle. Thénardier had not moved from her chair, and was now tracing the edges of the book impatiently. "Well, go on."   
  
And thus the playacting began. As Cosette watched, Azelma skipped up to Éponine's table and, as if she were clutching a bouquet of flowers, extended her arms towards her sister. Smiling sweetly, Éponine motioned as if to take them.   
  
"Why, thank you."   
  
The Lark, standing awkwardly still, blinked; she did not understand what was supposed to be happening. She was meant to be crying now, wasn't she? _Why?_   
  
Éponine turned on Cosette, her eyes flashing. "_Cry._" The simple command spoken, her face resumed its feigned cheerfulness.   
  
Forcing her eyes shut and furrowing her brow, Cosette covered her face and attempted a fake sob. Was that right? Another scraped past her throat, like the whining of a rusty door hinge. Beneath the sound of her voice, she heard the falling of measured footsteps coming towards her ... then suddenly, she fell sideways as a boot struck her in the gut. Bewildered and in pain, Cosette opened her eyes with a sharp intake of breath. "What did I--" She was silenced by another blow to the chest.   
  
"How dare you love 'Ponine!" But Azelma's voice sounded more amused than angry.   
  
Whimpering, Cosette scampered under a table to avoid another boot. "Stop! Stop it, I don't--" She was cut short again by a slap to the cheek. "I-I don't want to play anymore!"   
  
The beating continued, accompanied by Éponine's delighted laughter as she watched from her table.   
  
Suddenly: "Cosette!" At the sound of the voice, the room fell silent, and Azelma froze with a clenched fist hovering above her head, ready to strike. "Is the floor done, you slut?"   
  
Still trembling, Cosette crept out from under the table to come face-to-face with the Thénardiess herself. "N-no, madame..."   
  
"Well then, why the devil are you playing? Get back to work!"   
  
Snatching up the abandoned cloth, Cosette nodded and thrust herself onto the floor, scrubbing as vigorously as if her bruised body were not still throbbing with pain. If _that_ was what 'love' tasted like, then, by the Gods, she did not want it.


End file.
